


Wanted

by StardustSprinkler



Category: Lore Olympus (Webcomic)
Genre: Abuse, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 16:28:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20049073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StardustSprinkler/pseuds/StardustSprinkler
Summary: An abusive relationship is as disorienting as it is dangerous. Hades struggles to find self-worth.





	Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> This work depicts an abusive relationship and may be upsetting for certain readers. I in no way condone abuse. The conflicting thoughts presented are that of a manipulated victim and in no way represent a defense for abuse. This story also takes some liberties with Minthe as a character. Reader discretion is advised.

He wouldn’t say the sex is what keeps him coming back. In fact, it should deter him. Everything about this woman should deter him. But…she’s interested in him. And who else would be? Yeah, they fight, but she still holds him sometimes. In the silence, in those moments where she’s curled up and half asleep and he’s still awake reading…it almost feels like they’re playing at a relationship. He tries. He thinks she does too. Maybe.

He knows she likes roses. He knows what foods she’s allergic to. She knows what he likes. He knows she wants to dominate, so he lets her. It started off as something that only happened when she was really pissed at him, the way she’d talk to him, hurt him. She insisted it was his fault for upsetting her, so he should let her play rough with him. Of course he was big enough to stop her…but she was right, wasn’t she? He fucked up a lot, forgetting to bring her something, showing up late, ignoring her apologies... The least he could do was let her have this.

It became more frequent as time passed. If they were fucking, it was as likely for his cheek to sting from a slap as it was not to. It grew from her insulting him as she rode him to making him repeat those demeaning words back to her. Where was he going to go though? He was as weak as anyone else, he needed companionship. He had spent centuries alone. Who else was going to be able to stomach being around him? He was too much like his father.

She decided to try choking one day. He was certainly strong enough to pull her hands off his throat…but she said it turned her on. So, he let her. Why did he let her? Gods, he’d be so embarrassed if anyone found out. Who could believe that someone so much smaller than him could…coerce him to do anything? Sex with her left him feeling empty, but at least he wasn’t alone.

When they fought, it could get really ugly. Screaming, breaking things, the whole nine. Once in a while, he would think he’d found the courage to break it off. He would start to tell her to get out, that they were over, that he didn’t want this anymore. Then, she’d shift right in front of him. All her hard edges would become smooth curves, her voice would change from biting and bitter to cloying and sultry. She’d back him up against a counter and undo his belt and zipper. He’d argue with her, try to push her off, but she’d tell him she was just trying to make it up to him. She was trying. Didn’t he want someone to try? He’d struggle to make sense of the situation until she took him in her mouth and he shut down. It wasn’t until after he came that he realized he’d been crying. But she insisted that he had gotten what he wanted, so he couldn’t kick her out. When had he wanted this?

\------------------------------------------------------------------

Things were different with Kore. For the longest time, he couldn’t believe he deserved to have a relationship with her. But she was patient. She was always patient with him. The first time he lay on top of her, she started hyperventilating. He never did it again until she asked him to. The first time her hand slid over his neck during sex, he flinched. She gave him space immediately. They had both been hurt. But that didn’t mean they had to hurt each other. Leave it to a goddess of growth to show him how to heal. He would have worshipped the ground she walked on, but she never asked him to. She looked at him like he was something precious. Like _he_ deserved worship and reverence. He still didn’t understand, but he wanted to.

There was the night she asked him to trust her, to let her have control. He was ready. She tied silk over his eyes. He expected her to take him, but she didn’t. She covered his skin in kisses, rubbed olive oil into his muscles, whispered sweet nothings against the shell of his ear. He cried that night too, but it wasn’t for the same reasons.

She got _him _flowers, ones grown by her own hands. He gave her diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds. He tried to get them cut and polished, but she insisted she liked them just as he made them, rough and unique. She had jokingly called him rough and unique once. He has yet to hear a description he likes better.

He could sense she was afraid at first, afraid that he would rush her. She cried when he told her how much he’d love just holding her. He tried to explain how amazing it was to be with someone and not feel hollow, hurt. She nodded because he didn’t have to try, she understood. It took a few weeks of her sleeping in his bed for him to notice that the nightmares had stopped. It seemed she took care of him even when she slept.

One night she told him she wanted him. He moved at the pace of molten lava, with touches as light as flower petals. He feared her growing sick of him asking if she was all right, but she only gave him grateful smiles and tender kisses. Was love supposed to feel this good? How could a touch so gentle feel like lightening? She told him she enjoyed it, his touch on her skin. She enjoyed him being around her, inside of her, next to her.

He stared at her, incredulous, when she first called his scars beautiful. That wasn’t beauty. Beauty was reserved for things like the shape of her lips or the glow in her eyes. She reminded him that he called her stretch marks beautiful. He nodded enthusiastically. She said it was the same and he smiled. He told her the way her mind worked was beautiful. It was her turn to nod and he laughed.

He feared going out in public with her, feared he couldn’t handle watching her distance herself from him. When they stepped out into world, there were whispers, like a constant hushed commentary on his life. But her laugh was louder and her feelings more important than them. She drowned them all out. Sometimes he fixated on them still, but then she would tuck a daisy behind his ear and they’d wither to nothing but white noise again.

One night, when she was snoring softly, he slipped the ring on her finger and kissed her palm gently. He awoke the next morning to her digging frantically through her purse. She pulled out her own little black box and crawled excitedly towards him on the bed. Smiling sweetly, she said that she hadn’t wanted to rush him. He inspected the ring she offered, but couldn’t process anything beyond what was engraved on the inside.

A single word.

Her fingers squeezed his knee. “So you’ll always know that you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> No part of this work is intended to shame kinks. Any negative light thrown is due to dubious consent/non-consent of the partner.


End file.
